


Diplomat's Son

by junipernapalm



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hipsters, Hipsters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipernapalm/pseuds/junipernapalm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self described spoiled rich brat and his constantly nervous neighbor find themselves getting closer on a summer afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomat's Son

Jean’s father always told him that he never expected greatness out of Jean. Those words etched themselves onto Jean’s brain to become a scar that would always reopen and bleed all over his relationship with his father. He didn’t want to be anything besides the less than great son of a diplomat who was constantly disappointed in him. That’s why he was an average student at an Ivy League university with no actual goals in life. He wanted to waste his father’s money to spite him. But in the end, Jean realized he was just another spoiled kid from the Upper East Side.

The sticky summer heat didn’t bother Jean. He liked this sort of feeling of suffocation over the kind he normally felt. He liked sitting out on the fire escape and smoking and contemplating that Samuel Beckett play he really loved. What was the name of it again? The one with that woman trapped in a hole. _Happy Days_. He smiled to himself before snuffing out his cigarette over the wrought iron. He went back inside to cool down and read some more before he noticed his cell phone ringing- another call from his father. He let the phone ring out on coffee table where it jittered about because he figured that he knew what his father wanted to talk about. They lived in the same damn city, and he refused to talk to or see him. It was better to avoid the spike in blood pressure than to see him.

The heat started to become oppressive enough that Jean finally decided to turn the air conditioning on. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and thought about whether or not it would be worth going to the bodega to get some ice cream. At the very least, he needed to leave the apartment for once to get that nagging voice inside his head to stop telling him that he needed to go outside. Jean hated going out- almost as much as his neighbor did, and Jean swore his neighbor was agoraphobic.

Jean exited his building before noticing the jostling of keys beside him. The possibly but probably not agoraphobic neighbor stood outside with his hand stuck to the doorknob of his apartment like he superglued it there by accident. Jean couldn’t remember his name, but he was similar to Jean in that he was probably another rich kid trying to avoid his parents. Outside of that, Jean could only guess about him. The inference that Jean made from their few interactions were that he went to film school at one time and that he inexplicably didn’t live in some place like Bushwick despite the telltale signs that he should. Jean’s neighbor was also a giant who was so nervous that he looked like he was in pain whenever someone forced him to talk to them. So Jean did his best to not speak to him. This time though, Jean ignored all his normal sensibilities that told him he should ignore his neighbor.

“Hey… you okay?” Jean said.

His neighbor turned around and struggled to say something.

“If you need to get something from the store, I can get it for you,” Jean said.

“Um… I can get it. Er, I can’t. I mean… you can’t,” he said.

“Then do you want to go together?”

“Sure. I mean… no. I don’t know. I think yes.”

“Okay. Then let’s go.”

Jean’s neighbor shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets while he waited for Jean to move. Jean rolled his eyes and started to make his way downstairs. His neighbor uncomfortably walked directly behind Jean like his own personal stalker. Jean glanced over his shoulder to make sure his neighbor was still behind him. His neighbor stopped and made a small wave of his hand.

“You mind if we walk another block? I like the store at that block a lot better than the shithole that’s actually by us,” Jean said.

“No. It’s okay,” his neighbor said.

“My name is Jean, by the way. I don’t know if you actually know that.”

“Yeah. It’s on your mailbox.”

“That makes sense…”

“I’m Bertolt.”

Jean did not know it at the time, but Bertolt had awful luck because when they went to the store they wanted to go to, the doors were locked. On the doors was a hastily written sign that read, “Fumigation. Open next week.” Jean kicked at the door and flipped it off despite the act being useless. Beside him, Bertolt sighed and deeply frowned at the contemplation of what nearby stores were to his liking. He used to not be so picky, but Bertolt became what he considered ridiculous over the years. Jean seemed much more reasonable to him despite the occasional loud noises he heard from Jean’s apartment and the obvious avoiding on Jean’s end. Bertolt not so secretly actually wanted to get to know his neighbor more. This meeting, though purely by chance, seemed like fate to Bertolt. Unfortunately, Jean had to pick the one time Bertolt had to get something embarrassing from the store to actually hang out with him.

With much resignation, the two went back to the corner shop across from their building. Jean grabbed a pint of ice cream, some beer, and chips. He didn’t check out what Bertolt was getting. But he figured that Bertolt was an adult- obviously he could shop on his own. At the checkout, Jean stood beside Bertolt whose hands were shaking. Bertolt placed his items on the counter and reached for the collar of his shirt to air himself out. The cashier eyed up Bertolt and Jean.

“Fun night for you two?” the cashier said.

“Yeah, just rollicking,” Jean said.

The cashier snorted and rung up Bertolt’s items before handing the bag over to Bertolt. Jean ignored him. He always hated this cashier. It was partially why he never went to this store. He grabbed his plastic bag of food and ran out of the store with Bertolt. He looked over his shoulder to see Bertolt just standing there staring at the contents of his bag.

“You okay there? Do you need to go back in?” Jean asked.

“No. I just wanted to double check so I didn’t have to leave my place again,” Bertolt said.

“Whatcha get?”

“Me?”

“Yeah you.”

“It’s not anything exciting.”

Jean peered over before Bertolt quickly held his bag to his chest. His face was ruddy and sweaty.

“Don’t look!” Bertolt said.

“Look, nothing is going to be weird to me. Trust me.”

“I just… it’s weird to say that I bought this. Okay… maybe you can look.”

Bertolt thrusted the bag into Jean’s hands. Jean opened the bag and stared. Suddenly the cashier’s comment made sense.

“Condoms and lube? This is what you were freaked out about?” Jean said.

“I didn’t want you to think… I was weird about you or anything,” Bertolt said.

“Why would I think that? You have sex. Big deal.”

“Yes but no. It’s for a friend. It’s not for me.”

“So you buy condoms and lube for your friend. Is your friend hiding shit from his parents like he’s 16 or something?”

“No! I mean sometimes he comes over and he…”

“Fucks you?”

“No. I mean sometimes. I mean. Why am I saying this?”

Bertolt rubbed his head in frustration. He picked his bag back from Jean’s hands and headed back for the apartment building. When he got to his apartment, he slammed the door shut and slumped down- dejected over that ordeal. He should have told Jean that he didn’t care about Reiner anymore but he couldn’t. He had waited for so long to just say something to him, and he couldn’t even be normal about it. But being normal wasn’t an option, at least not while Reiner was ever present in his life.

Reiner was Bertolt’s on and off boyfriend. Currently they were off, but it never stopped Reiner from coming over to Bertolt’s and fucking him when he was on a dry spell. Reiner wasn’t always that way, but over the years he had grown apart from Bertolt. Still, it didn’t stop him from keeping Bertolt tethered to his life. Bertolt didn’t want that to be his constant reality. Bertolt loathed that aspect about himself- being a doormat to his ex’s sex life. He assumed Jean wasn’t like that. He hoped that Jean was as nice as his dreams made Jean out to be. He just saw that guy who was always carting around records and playing around with a Super 8 camera- he couldn’t possibly or even secretly be a jerk. Bertolt sighed. Jean probably was, and that would ruin every fantasy that ran through Bertolt’s head. That’s how it always went for Bertolt.

Trying to escape, Bertolt went outside and tried to do some deep breathing, the kind of breathing he attempts at doing in yoga but is slightly positive that he’s doing wrong. He looked from the side of his eyes, toward the sun setting off behind some of the high rises and over the brownstones. The view always calmed him down- made him feel like everything was melting away. He could just take away every little awful tick and bad habit just looking out and imagining his self out of the picture. Again, Bertolt sighed before resuming his worrying.

“Can’t believe you’re out here. It’s hotter than Satan’s ass crack here,” Jean said while opening a can of cheap beer.

Bertolt frowned and said, “It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah? Then why are you sweating so much? You could fill an Olympic sized swimming pool with your sweat.”

“I don’t sweat that much. Plus, that’s kind of gross if I could.”

Jean laughed at that. _That was a joke_ , Jean questioned to himself. He wasn’t quite sure if Bertolt meant to make a joke or if he was just trying to be self-effacing by putting himself down like that.

“I’m kidding. Just go with it,” Jean said.

“Are you trying to make fun of me?” Bertolt said.

His voice was small then- almost a whisper of disappointment. Jean shook his head and bit his lips. He tapped his beer down onto the railing, slightly confused and wondering if he was already drunk enough to start turning mean like he sometimes did.

“No. Why would I do that?” Jean said.

Bertolt shrugged. He tapped his fingers on the railing and leaned back to hit his head against the brick wall, a wake up call to reality instead of whatever fantasy he wanted to pursue with Jean.

“Most people make fun of me. I think… because I don’t fight back. It’s not like I don’t know how to, but I’d rather not. I wish I had something to say to people, but I don’t really have the words. Or I have the words, but they’re not the kind of words that I need, “ Bertolt said.

“I never fucking have the right words. Ever. I just say the wrong things constantly because none of the things I want to actually say come out of my mouth. It’s like my mouth isn’t connected to my brain,” Jean said.

“Mine isn’t either… There’s a lot things I want to say but can’t. So everything just sits in my head.”

“What would you say if you could?”

“I’d probably tell that guy to stop using me.”

“I won’t ask you why you can’t say that to him, but you probably can’t for a good reason… Hey, you want a beer?”

Jean dangled a can of beer in front of Bertolt who reluctantly took the can from Jean. The can hissed as he opened it with that distinct yeasty smell invading his nose. The first sip seemed like a godsend in this heat though.

“Thanks,” Bertolt said.

“It’s nothing. Just sit out with me for a bit,” Jean said.

“Are you sure?”

“Should I not be?”

“No… it’s just that. Never mind.”

“Something to sit in your head?”

Bertolt spilt beer on his shirt at the moment. The way Jean could just recall that made Bertolt want to smile. Even if Bertolt said that just a moment ago, he knew that Reiner would have never done that- at least the Reiner he knew now.

“Yeah. Something like that,” Bertolt said.

“You can say it to me. I’m not offended,” Jean said.

“Um… it’s like… I don’t know. I just don’t know if you would really want to speak to me any other way.”

Jean snorted and took another swig of his beer. He tilted his head as looked towards the sunset. Bertolt could have fell in love with that image forever. But then Jean’s gaze turned to him, and Bertolt felt the strange shiver pass through him as Jean smiled at him.

“I don’t know why I want to talk to you, but it’s probably because you’re interesting. You also seem a lot more honest to me than most people are,” Jean said.

“That’s a lie. I’m a liar, just like anyone else. I think I keep my secrets better. Like… I think we all are two sided, but some people are better at it than others, and some of us can’t contain that other side. So it will always be there ready to burst and expose us,” Bertolt said.

“And then there’s the people who don’t hide anything at all.”

“Do you know anyone like that?”

“My dad.”

Jean’s words spat out with kind of vitriol reserved for the scum of the earth.

“He’s that bad?” Bertolt asked.

“He doesn’t care. Everyone around him likes him. Even my mom, and they had a shitty divorce. But he couldn’t give one single shit about my existence. Like I’m the child that embodies every disappointment, and I don’t even care. I mean… I do, but I also know that I wish I didn’t care like I do. I don’t know what I’m complaining about. I’m just some trust fund baby with no right to complain. You know? I’ve never had it bad,” Jean said.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean nothing bad has ever happened to you. Parents who don’t love you are bad no matter who you are.”

“So same with you?”

“Mm… I don’t know if they know how to handle me. My ex, the one who… you know, well I introduced him to my parents so many times as my boyfriend, but I never once heard them introduce him to people as my boyfriend. They always referred to him as my close friend. When I was in college, I studied film, but they would always lie to people and say I was studying something like finance. They’ve always been ashamed of me.”

“Don’t you think it’s bullshit when they tell you that they aren’t? Like I can feel the lie even if they can’t say it to my face.”

Bertolt nodded. He stared at his beer, thinking about how this might have been the first time he ever told anyone about this and the first time he met a person who even understood the idea. Jean stretched his arm out over to Bertolt’s and poked Bertolt in the arm. Bertolt jerked awake and saw Jean smiling away, looking at Bertolt in such a way that he wondered if anyone really noticed him the same way Jean did. Jean started to blush and look away though after he felt the pressure of Bertolt’s gaze.

“I’m a little too much of a pessimist, but really, I’m someone who craves honesty,” Jean said.

“That’s not really something bad to want. It’s just hard to come by. I want someone I can be honest to in my life. I used to have that, but that’s changed. I guess that’s to be expected. Everyone leaves me,” Bertolt said.

“Then… how about I promise you something?”

“What?”

“Keep being as honest as you can, and I will try and be someone you can be honest with. Okay?”

“Okay? I mean, okay.”

Jean offered his pinky to Bertolt.

“Gotta pinky swear it or else it won’t mean anything,” Jean said.

Gingerly, Bertolt hooked his pinky finger around Jean’s. The warmth he felt between that small touch seemed like the best feeling. He knew it was because at that moment he was certain they would always be friends from then on. Jean felt the same as he felt a smile return to his face that he hadn't felt in a long time.

“Hey… do you want to come into my place for more beer? And to get out of this heat?” Jean said.

“Yeah sure,” Bertolt said.

 

_A Few Years Later_

 

“Are you nervous?” Bertolt asked.

“What makes you think that?” Jean said as he brushed his coat for the umpteenth time.

Bertolt laughed to himself before taking hold of Jean’s hand.

“Because when you told my parents, you looked like this, but that wasn’t so bad. All things considered,” Bertolt said.

“Yeah, well, my dad is different. This is going to be so bad… Not because of you. It’s just me,” Jean said.

“I know that’s what you’re thinking, but we’re in this together.”

Jean took on last deep breath and squeezed Bertolt’s hand tight. Bertolt didn’t seem to mind that bone crushingly hard grip because he knew it was only because Jean needed him more than ever. Bertolt whispered some words of confidence to Jean and laid a kiss on his cheek as they walked to their table.

 

“Sir… I mean Dad… This is Bertolt, my fiancé.”


End file.
